


Serpents and songs, or Elves don't play fair

by therickykitty



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, And I'm terrible at porn, But I took forever to write this, Fluff, M/M, Porn, This was supposed to be drawn out porn, silly porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6319714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therickykitty/pseuds/therickykitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strip Wicked Grace date night. 'Nuff said?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serpents and songs, or Elves don't play fair

He had no idea how he let Samson talk him into this, especially after the recent fiasco - however fun it was - that had robbed his subordinate of what little decency he had left. He’d been sure he’d seen Bull and Dorian propositioning Cullen not long after the game, and the thought of the rather uptight former Templar being involved in salacious debauchery tickled the elf’s skin a flattering pink. The man had been rather flushed and uneasy the following day, and Desya wasn’t one to read into things or gossip, but still - he didn’t know how these kinds of relationships worked amongst humans, but if it meant the man were more at ease, he wouldn’t complain. 

“Hah! Serpents, songs and angels! I’m on a roll, snowflake!” Samson laughed gleefully. 

Desya’s attention snapped up to the old wolf and he couldn’t stop the heavy sigh from escaping him. That night they had with Varric in the tavern had been fun, but the Dalish mage still had little clue as to how the game was played - or rather, how humans seemed to play it, which unsurprisingly contradicted the way Varric and Josephine taught him. Samson had been uncommonly good at the game, which – as far as Desya could tell – relied more on manipulation and outright deception than any real skill. And perhaps that was why he had approached him for an idea for an impromptu date: strip Wicked Grace. And it was with that in mind that Samson was playing rather aggressively. 

“Lethallin, I swear, you know how terrible I am at this,” Desya groaned as Samson flashed the Angel of Death card at him, forcing the elf to show his hand which was – yet again – weak compared to his lover’s. He didn’t miss the lascivious grin plastered across the older commander’s face as he slowly began to work off his vest and divest it on a pile that was – lamentably – getting fuller as their night went by. Folding his arms over his bare chest, he couldn’t suppress the slight flush to his cheeks while Samson’s eyes raked over him, becoming distracted from his current hand. And it was with that simple, careless wandering of eyes that gave Desya an idea.

A deliciously wicked idea.  
====

What was it? The night wore on, and his little bird’s hands were – predictably – as weak as ever, and yet there was something different altogether happening before him. If Andraste herself had appeared before him, slapped him stupid and told him the Maker himself was descending to smite his arse on the spot he’d doubt he’d be as surprised as he was right then. Now Samson wasn’t ignorant to the art of seduction – he’d box any man’s ears that said otherwise – but the display right before him had him downright amused – and as blatant as it was, undeniably aroused. He’d gotten the young man to forfeit his undershirt, his leggings and even that insufferably small flap he called a “Dalish robe” – as criminally exposing as it was – and the sight before him of a bare-chested and small-clothes bedazzled elf would be enough to make any sane man leer and smirk in filthy appreciation.

Samson had half-expected his little lover to be adorably flustered and demure, and if the sight before him weren’t so damn delicious he’d be laughing. Here this little man was, spread-legged and with his coat practically hanging of his shoulders, looking all the world distracted and disinterested while giving his husband a full view of his insidiously tiny small-clothes and pert, dusky nipples. It was at complete odds with how he’d been earlier, and the ex-Templar wasn’t pissed enough to not notice what the man must’ve been thinking. It was so transparent – and Andraste’s-flaming-tits was it ever working. Discretion had been tossed to the wind and Samson felt little remorse for how he obviously reached down and adjusted his incredibly hard member through his trousers. 

Dull amber eyes flicked up and crinkled when they caught the slight dilating of Desya’s bright green eyes, and made sure to slide his fingers over his ever-expanding bulge for extra measure. “Been a while, little bird. How’s that hand o’ yours lookin’?” He made certain to slide his fingers over the obvious curve of his clothed member, never breaking eye contact with his husband – or failing to notice the slight stutter of breath or flush of the elf’s dark cheeks. It was a dance the two had rarely taken before, and perhaps that was why tonight it made the anticipation and need all the more tantalizing. 

Desya made sure to lick his lips and methodically slide his leg up and prop it over his knee, leaning back just enough to give the commander a complete eyeful of the curve of his buttocks, and the barest glimpse of his clothed member. “Oh, it certainly could be better, ma’fen. I’m not sure what I should do. Perhaps just forfeit now, and accept my fate?”

“Humility is a sold foundation for all virtues, my dove,” Samson growled. His husband smiled and folded the hand he had and made certain to slowly untie and slide down his last article covering what little modesty he retained. The elf tossed it across the table for good measure and applauded himself for how sharply the man sucked in his breath at the sight. He’d made certain to use wear a thin set of smallclothes – silk for good measure, as Dorian had once recommended to him. The lacey undergarment laid half off the table and partly in the Commander’s lap, and Desya couldn’t suppress his giggle as his husband’s pants looked positively painful with how bulged they were – with the lacy smallclothes like a cherry on top.

“My, such a lack of self-control. What ever would your men say?” Desya chided half-heartedly. He made certain to sway his hips and hover near the doorway to their shared chambers, his hip resting against the wall and giving his husband a clear view of his – as Samson would phrase it – spectacular ass. He wasn’t sorry for the animalistic growl that escaped when he rose up and stalked over to the smaller man, grinning freely as his prey dash from the doorway and straight into their chambers.

“You’re making this old wolf live up to his name, sweet thing.”

Desya rolled his eyes before making a show of sliding across their shared bed. “If you’re going for intimidation, I must warn you it’s having quite the opposite effect, vhenan.”

The delicious display was like a sledgehammer to the fragile resolve and playfulness Samson had been building up to, and with a feral growl he tore off his clothing. His husband snorted and couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up before the ravenous older man pounced and peppered kisses up his body. Samson eagerly swallowed the elf’s moans and soft whimpers, easing a few fingers down to impatiently stroke at his entrance. His bushy brows practically shot off his head and a slow grin broke across his face. He smirked and suckled teasingly on a pebbling nipple and kept his eyes trained on Desya’s blown green irises. 

“Well, well, sweet thing, someone was prepared. Is that oil I feel around my favorite little rosebud?”

Desya scoffed and couldn’t suppress his keening whine while his husband teasingly circled around his slick entrance before easily sliding two fingers past the rim. “Mmmm, and so loose, too.”

The elf gasped and arched his spine and practically purred as he slid his arms across his back. Desya was a picture of utter debauchery, and with cheeks flushed and half-lidded eyes he smiled lovingly at Samson. “Don’t draw this out, ma’fen. We don’t have all night, dearest. Remember our – aahh! MMmmm, remember o-our daughter…” 

Desya cursed how talented and frustrating his husband’s fingers and tongue were. Where in the world did he even learn something like that? He felt him expertly scissor and slowly stretch his already moist and loosened hole, reeling from how his tongue tortured his aching shaft. He couldn’t stifle his needy mewl when he suddenly felt his lips leave his tip and both digits slide out with a wet pop from his aching hole.

“Best thing about having babysitters then, eh dove? Oh, you better believe I’m gonna make this last. All. Night.” 

With a lick of his lips and a haughty smirk, Desya cooed, “I do hope you’re up for the challenge, ma vhenan.” 

====

“Hah ha! And then, with my axe still in the beast’s skull, I swung down and-!”

“Amatus, please. We’re looking after the little darling, not trying to give her nightmares for later. What would her fathers think?” Dorian sighed, brushing out the unruly curls from Uvir’s face. 

“I wanna hear more, uncle! Uncle Bull, how’d you kill it? Did you bash it’s brains in?”

Bull waggled his brows in mock triumph at the mage and opened his mouth before all three were startled by a rather loud and drawn out growl echoing from the rafters and down into the main hall. Dorian tensed and sighed loudly before resuming his treatment of the little elf’s hair. 

“Holy crap, what was that?!” Bull bellowed, reaching for his axe beside their table. 

“Oh, that’s just papa. He gets like that sometimes.”

“Nothing surprises me anymore, parvulas,” Dorian chuckled.

**Author's Note:**

> God I'm terrible at following through on porn. UGH.


End file.
